A Cat's Tale
by MLaw
Summary: Illya is charged with completing an unusual task. Originally posted on section7mfu, live journal. A Bowery Mission story.


The telephone on the wall in the lab rang, startling Illya Kuryakin for a second, as he was concentrating on a piece of micro-circuitry that he was working on to improve the communicator pen.

He was trying to develop some sort of silent mode, as the pens quite often went off at the most inopportune times, alerting someone to their users presence. A stakeout at a train station had been ruined for he and Napoleon, and that prompted Illya to start the project.

The Russian was determined to solve the problem, if not with a silencer, then perhaps with some sort of buzzer to alert an agent a call was coming in. So far that wasn't working, as the sound it made was still too loud. "Hmmm, perhaps a vibration might work?" He asked himself.

He slipped off his stool, grabbing hold of the receiver on the black rotary wall phone, thinking UNCLE needed upgrade to the the new push button ones, but that was yet another issue with accounting, as they saw the old telephones as still serviceable.

Illya had no idea how Napoleon, a man not patient when it came to paperwork, managed to deal with the accounting division, now that he was CEA. It was one of his many new responsibilities that came along with the position and he had no choice in dealing with the matter. He'd called his partner in on many a meeting with the representative from accounting, though it did no good most of the time, but as Napoleon's second in command, Illya was obliged to become involved.

"Lab, Kuryakin," he answered the phone.

"Hi Illya, it's Mandy. I have an outside call for you from a Miss Claire..."

Illya cocked his eyebrows, as Claire never called him at his place of employment. She had no idea what sort of work he really did, and when the operators answered they'd identify to the caller, which cover company they were, depending on the telephone number being used. Each operator had a large binder in front of them, with tabs indicating what story went with which phone number.

In Illya's case, it was a general cover for an import company. Unless directed otherwise, that was the story that was used.

"Yes that is fine, I will take the call, thank you Mandy."

"You're welcome Illya..." He could hear the usual flirtatiousness in her voice, and as always, ignored it. The phone clicked as the call was put through.

"Claire, how are you? Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine Illya. I just didn't know who else to call. I have a little problem at the shelter, not an emergency though. " That she made a point of saying as she knew Illya, he'd be down there in a flash if could.

"What is the problem?"

"Cats."

"Cats?" He repeated. "What sort of cats?"

"Stray ones. It seems all of a sudden, we've been inundated with cats. I'd call the catcher if I could, but I just don't have the heart. I wouldn't want them destroyed. And they do sort of help us keep free of mice and rats."

"So what is the problem then?"

"I don't have the budget to feed this many animals, much less buy cat litter. And I'm sure the health inspector wouldn't be happy about them either."

"Just how many of them are there Claire?"

"About a dozen at last count."

"That is a lot of cats, and the way cats are, there will be many more soon if some of the females are in season. Hmmm, do you need money?"

"No thank you sweetie, I just need to get rid of most of the cats. I'll keep a couple around to act as mousers, that I can handle, but not a dozen. I didn't even think of them procreating...wow."

"What would you like me to do?" He chuckled.

"Help me find them homes please?"

"That I think I can do, but I will not be able to come over until Sunday, is that a problem?"

"Not at all, that's perfect. After services, or can I convince you to attend," she gently chided him, knowing he wasn't religious.

"Nice try Claire. I will see you after your services." He hung up the receiver, smiling ever so slightly, thinking she never gave up.

Sunday arrived and Illya let himself in at the Bowery Mission as the last of the people there for meals and services made their way out the red doors, many of them carrying paper sacks of food with them.

There were families with young children, poor, lonely and some homeless and many of them he recognized from his visits in the past to help and those that knew him smiled or waved. Yet there were many faces new to him, making him wonder how a country, so plentiful with great freedoms could have this be possible.

Back in Russia there were the have-ots as well, but that was due to a greedy government of self appointed new elitists who claimed they were not. The collective was to have benefited from the mutual sharings of the hard labors of all, but it did not, as those benefits were reaped by a privileged few.

Here the poverty seemed more complicated, and existed not because of the government, but in spite of it. There were other socio-economic factors here, unlike in the USSR, yet here there was freedom and opportunity to improve ones life, and for those who fell upon misfortune, there were people like Claire, to help them to try and pick up the pieces, or just get through a bad time. There were people like her back in Soviet Union, but eventually they would disappear as the government couldn't tolerate giving hope to the masses. If there was hope, then there could be sedition and talk of change, that would lead to no good in the eyes of those who were ultimately in control.

Claire was alone, yet not alone, having dedicated her life to the service of others. Illya could relate to that, yet unlike him, she never seemed to feel lonely. Claire was a good woman, a strong woman with a heart of gold. It was as simple as that. He realized his life was all the better for having met her, yet she called him her blond angel. She was the angel, not him.

"Illya!" Claire called out from the kitchen door with a her usual effervescent greeting.

He walked back to meet her, giving her a kiss on each cheek. She always got a kick out of that and said it made her feel classy. That in turn would make him smile at her simple graciousness.

She didn't have much, and lived in a small apartment house off Delancey Street. He'd been there to visit her a few times, and liked the simplicity that surrounded her. Claire wasn't a wealthy woman, but lived comfortably.

The austerity in his own home was by his choice, but her's was, he supposed too, as she not only gave of herself to the Mission, she would also spend her own money when things were short. That didn't leave much for frilly decorations and possessions...

The older woman took him by the hand, leading him through the kitchen, there Illya saw a rather strange sight.

"As you can see they're getting everywhere," she said, picking up the cat out of the cooking pan and carrying it with her, still leading Illya quietly to a storage room at the back of the building. There, scattered around on the floor were the rest of cats she'd spoken of, most of them drinking milk from saucers.

They were all sizes and colors, long hair, short hair, some barely with hair. Adult and some older kittens. Most of them looked to be in pretty fair shape but some needed to put on some weight as well as get cleaned up. There was a lot of purring and a few meows as they walked into the room.

Illya knelt, picking up one of the younger cats his arms, a little tan white and grey calico, and instantly it began to purr as he scratched it behind the ears while it tried to snuggle up to him. This one at least seemed fat and healthy...

"I named her Cookie," Claire smiled, "and I think she's one of the ones I want to keep. She's very friendly with everyone, and that makes the people coming here smile. She hops up into their laps and lets them pet her. The kids love her and she stays nice and calm even when they get a little rowdy with her."

Illya felt something bump against his leg and looked down, seeing a gorgeous tan and grey Siamese with blue eyes looking up at him and he laughed when it let out a squeaky meow.

"That's Misa, he likes a lot of attention, and sort of bosses most of the other cats around, and he's a real talker too," she said.

He spotted a huge furball curled up on one of the boxes, realizing there was a pair of angry yellow eyes looking out at him. "_Bozhe moy_, that is a cat?" He blurted out.

"Oh that's Rocky." He looks like he's mad all the time, but he's a wimp. Takes a while before he'll let anyone near him. Pretty funny that such a big guy is a scaredy cat huh?"

There was a dirty white cat that hopped up next to Rocky, butting heads with him and Illya could see blood behind its ear, most likely from a fight.

"That's Puff Kitty, not too friendly I'm afraid. He tries pushing Rocky around but just gets ignored, and he doesn't get along with everyone as you can see."

A little grey and white tabby stripe stood off to the side, not going near any of the saucers.

"That's Noddy," Claire said, pretty skittish and won't touch the food until everyone's done. I have to feed him alone sometimes, otherwise there's not much left over for him. He's really shy and hides a lot."

One by one Claire pointed out each cat, telling him their names. There was a long haired black and white cat that appeared out of nowhere, laying down on the floor in front of her on his back, waiting to be scratched. "That's Dash," he's quick and a great mouser. He's the other one I'd like to keep."

Illya placed the calico back down on the floor. His brow furrowed as he was was deep in thought.

"First things first," he finally said, rolling up the sleeves of his grey sweatshirt. "If we are to get your feline friends adopted, they will need some cleaning up and grooming. I will need soap, towels, and a pair of scissors and a hair brush, preferably with soft bristles.

Claire returned in fifteen minutes later carrying the requested supplies, depositing them on a stack of crates.

Illya knew where the washroom was, and there was a bathtub and counter located there that would both suit his purposes. They spread some news papers on the floor and one by one Claire carried or coaxed the cats in, starting with the youngest.

They were no problems for the Russian as he put them into the shallow soapy water, giving them a good scrub, and laughed at their antics; holding their small claws out in warning or kicking their legs in mid-air as if they were swimming.

Cookie was cooperative as was Dash, though Illya had to hold onto him tightly to keep the wet cat from slipping away. Claire was right, he was a fast one. She took over the drying and Illya would snip the matted fur and trim their claws as needed. Once dry they each received a nice brushing.

"Misa yowled miserably, and squirmed until Illya handed him to over Claire, and he swore the cat gave him a dirty look. The Siamese stood there on the counter, turning his back to the Russian as he mustered all the dignity he could while Claire towel dried him.

When it came Puff Kitty's turn, there was quite a lot of splashing going on and clawing as well as some near-misses of teeth attacking Illya's hands and arms, but in the end the cat relented and submitted to the indignity of a bath.

"See, I win cat, as I am bigger than you," Illya growled at the beast as it scowled at him. Somehow he was able to examine the wound on the ear was more closely, and deemed it only a scratch, though he opted to put some antibiotic cream on it just in case. Once the angry Puff Kitty was clean and dried, it became obvious he was actually quite a nice looking fellow.

Several of the cats had some skin issues, and patches of fur missing, and after some discussion Claire agreed to keep them at the Mission until their appearance was more presentable. Illya told her, of course, he would pay for their room and board until homes were found for them, and would take no arguments from her.

It took hours to get the job done, but when it was finished by the end of the evening, Claire had to admit the cats looked wonderful.

"Do you really think you can get them all adopted?" She asked, feeling a bit guilty of laying the task on her friend. She poured cups of coffee for both of them as they sat in the dining room. Illya was in need of a little first aid himself as he was now sporting some vicious scratch marks on his forearms.

"I'm so sorry, "she said, as she gently cleaned the wounds, and swabbed ointment on them.

"Do not worry about me, I have had far worse injuries than these."

"What kind of injuries?"

Illya realized that he had almost slipped up, and recovered quickly he replied," Oh just some old sporting injuries, and I have been in an automobile accident or two."

"Sports?" Claire smiled, "You don't exactly look like athletic type, no offence honey."

"No offence taken," he blushed. "I competed in gymnastics a long time ago."

"In the Soviet Union wow?

"I was on the Olympic team as an alternate... second string, but an injury ended my career." He lied, as there was no injury, but the rest was the truth, though he never actually got to complete.

"You competed in the Olympics, now that's impressive." She grinned, obviously impressed at his admission.

"Apparently the coaches did not think that, " he chuckled.

"There," Claire announced as she applied the last of the salve. "That should do it, but you might want to let a doctor check those just in case...cat scratch fever you know."

"I will keep that in mind," he said, just to humor her. "Now as to the game plan, I will start with the younger cats and work my way along the ones who are in better shape, leaving the others to heal and improve in their appearance."

The next day Illya Kuryakin, secret agent extraordinaire, set about his task, hitting up a few of the secretaries at headquarters to adopt the kittens. Somehow they seemed not to be able to resist the blond Russian, and said yes, perhaps because he was the one doing the asking. They seemed to feel special that he'd singled them out, and just had to oblige him for that reason, they said yes, though he wouldn't have handed over the kittens to them if he sensed they really didn't want them.

Over the next few weeks, he landed more adoptions with the ladies in Communications, and a few of the people in Security. So far that made eight and Illya felt quite pleased with himself, as he'd even found the problem cats homes to a few shopkeepers he knew in the area.

Now the only two cats left were Rocky and Puff Kitty. Rocky was a massive animal, and definitely not a lap cat. He had a nice disposition and that what was the main thing in the monster cats favor. Illya wasn't so sure about Puff.

He walked down a corridor in headquarters lost in thought, trying to concentrate on the file in his hands, but he was having little luck. He had Rocky and Puff on his mind and evenconsidered asking Napoleon, but ruled that out immediately. His partner was simply not a cat person, nor was he enamored of any other sort of pet for that matter. He could just imagine hearing the American complaining about the cat hair all over his clothes, and snickered at that thought, which was interrupted when George Dennell walked straight into him.

"Oh gee, gosh Illya I'm so sorry. Golly, that was my fault." George straightened his glasses before bending over and grabbing the papers from the file he'd knocked out of Illya's hand.

"This is a mess, now they're all out of order. What can I do to make this up to you Illya," George moaned apologetically. No matter how many conversation he'd had with the cool headed Russian, he always became so nervous around him.

Illya grinned, not a wicked one, but definitely one that had something going on behind it.

"As a matter of fact George, there is something rather big you can help me with..."

Illya dusted his hands together, thinking the task was almost done. He was down to one last cat, Puff Kitty. He cringed at the name, as it did not fit the cat's disposition, but it was of Claire's choosing, and that was that.

He racked his brain to come up with a person, someone who would be kind with this cat a well as patient. It seemed so afraid, and lashed out when it though it was in peril, when it was simply another cat or human trying to be nice to it. This one had many fears to overcome and needed lots of love and understanding and...time. He hoped for the best with this one.

He gathered up Puff Kitty in a pet carrier, the one he'd borrowed from the lab as it was rarely in use since UNCLE frowned upon experimentation with animals, and took a taxi uptown.

Illya stepped through the front door of the luxury apartment building as the doorman opened it for him.

"Hi Mr. Kay, how are you today?"

"Fine Lawrence and you?" He responded politely.

"I'm swell."

"Glad to hear that, "Illya smiled, handing the man a small tip. "Is she home?"

"Yep, just got back from one of her trips. What's that you're carrying Mr. Kay?"

"Oh a visitor, and hopefully a permanent one."

"You want I should buzz her?"

"Yes that would be fine, thank you," he said, walking into the lobby.

Illya rode the elevator up to the penthouse, taking a deep breath before exiting to the hall. He walked to the ornately carved oak door, rang the the bell and the door opened immediately.

"Illya dearest, what an unexpected pleasure, and where is that nephew of mine? I'm surprised to see you here without him. Come in, in come in, "Amy Solo bombarded him with questions as invited him in.

"And what's this we have here with you? " She bent down, taking a peek and smiled at the cat.

"Why hello there kitty cat, aren't you the pretty one?"

Puff Kitty pushed himself as far back into the carrier as he could, his eyes wide open as he looked at this new woman.

"This is the reason I have come Amy, I need a great favor from you." He put the carrier down on the floor.

"Wait, wait," Amy stopped him.

His heart dropped thinking he was already doomed to failure.

"I sense a long story coming on, let me make some tea dear. You like raspberry jam to sweeten that don't you?"

"Yes please," he sighed, relieved she wasn't ready to cut him off at the pass.

They sat together on Amy's sumptuous white sofa. All her furniture was in the French provincial style and the carpeting was white as well. Though it showed she was well off, everything was decorated tastefully, as Amy Solo was not one for the ostentatious, and like her nephew preferred some of the finer things in life.

Her late husband Max Wainwright, had left her quite well off as he'd been an investment banker and did well with the stock market. Amy herself was shrewd with her finances and this gave her the means to a comfortable lifestyle, allowing her to travel as she pleased. Illya suspected that her fortune and penthouse would most likely go to her favorite nephew when she passed...

After Illya shared his cat tale with her, along with another cup of tea and scones, Amy opened the carry case.

The white cat didn't budge.

"Wait a minute," she smiled, heading to the kitchen. She returned carrying a tray with two small saucers on it. One with sardines, the other with paté and placed it a few feet in front of the carrier.

"Come on puss puss, something nice for your here. All for you," she practically purred at the cat.

Several minutes of silence passed, until a little white face appeared in the opening. One paw stepped onto the carpet and stopped. A few seconds later it was followed by another paw. It took about ten minutes for the cat to finally appear in full.

Illya's brow furrowed as he wondered what would come next.

"Hello there," Amy spoke softly, "My you are a handsome fellow if I do say so myself. Come on, have something to eat now, after all I did go to the trouble of getting it for you?" Her voice was gentle and welcoming, and somehow it had an effect on the animal.

It stepped up to the dishes, sniffed one and then the other, before it began to eat the paté, and when that was gone, it went at the sardines.

Amy reached out cautiously, and allowed the cat to take a sniff of her. As soon as Puff did, he pushed his head right into her hand, allowing her to pet him."

Illya let go the breath he was holding.

"Well, I guess the decision has been made, now that we're friends," Amy said to the cat.

It let out the barest of chirps and hopped right up into her lap, startling her at first. He began to purr furiously.

Illya cleaned up after the cat and the tea cups, letting Aunt Amy sit on the sofa with her new found friend.

"What's his name Illya?" She asked.

"Claire called him Puff Kitty, though I myself do not care for that, it sounds too girlish for a male cat."

"I agree. Hmmm?" She looked down into the white cat's soulful eyes for a moment. "I have it, I'll call him Bonaparte. He's a rather regal looking fellow."

"I think Napoleon might take umbrage at that," Illya laughed.

"He wouldn't dare." Amy smiled knowingly. "He's my cat now and I'll name him as I please, and besides Bonaparte will remind me of that wayward nephew of mine."

Illya said his goodbyes to Aunt Amy and Bonaparte, happy that he had fulfilled his mission at last. He returned to the Bowery to tell Claire the good news, but when he was greeted by her, he saw a bit of concern in her eyes.

"What is wrong?"

She led him to her office, and there lay a cat bed on the floor filled with tiny kittens. Cookie had given birth, and neither Claire or Illya had realized she was pregnant.

_"Chyort voz'mi_, another eleven?," He blurted out.

"I'm not one for swearing," Claire said, "but you got that right."

Illya closed his eyes, shaking his head, as it looked like his mission wasn't quite yet finished after all...


End file.
